Evening Poem by Henry Antony

Whereto should I go this evening?
Roam on the spattered streets ‘till morning
Evading decision? Seek out a violent place
To worship at, and make my prayers for sicken
And blight and blood squashed into fever half-hour?
Wander for hope of depraved houses
Stalk like a cat, round filthy glass cages
Angrily vomiting disgust into my trousers
And feel altogether sick at myself?
Certes, to find some occupation to turn
And harrow this stomach of mine,
Milk the cancered night for all it is worth,
Oh Yes.